entrancelogs | [CLOSED] It's all fun and games until somebody gets laid.

Mmhh, in the chair, or on his bed? That will be ever so difficult to decide. Standing, perhaps? Anything to get a good view of Athos' expression - yes, just the one blooming so delightfully on the Musketeer's face at the moment of his defeat. Buckingham observes with a grin, takes the cup to his lips, and savours the wine like sweet, liquid schadenffffffffffffffff!

--goes his triumph, almost spit across the table, as he stares down at the cards and sputters with his hand pressed over his own mouth, coughing loudly in an effort not to choke on his wine or wager, though it seems that at least the latter is suddenly rather inevitable.

Buckingham braces himself with a sharp breath, and absent-mindedly wipes his lips on his sleeve.

"Quite the... lucky hand."

The corner of his mouth twitches peevishly.

"You can call it luck," Athos admits, because that's what Poker is - there's no strategy, at least no discernible one. It's the point of gambling, after all: whether or not you've Lady Luck on your side. Fortunately for Athos, he has her today.

"Refill my cup, would you?"

With a bland smile, Athos nudges his glass across the table, rather enjoying the sight of an all-too-flustered Buckingham. The duke is managing disappointment poorly if the wine dripping down his chin is any indication.

The duke breathes once more, and his smile returns. Wide and bright and tense, like angrily carved marble. "Of course," he barely just pressed through grit teeth, and lifts the bottle to Athos' glass. His hand moves stiffly, like a puppet dissatisfied with the pull of its strings. Another serving for himself as well. He puts the bottle down, and empties his cup in one gulp; when it slams down on the table, Buckingham finally reanimates.

"I expect you should like to collect your winnings without delay."

His voice is kept level only by strained deliberation, but when he rises from his seat the pained stiffness in his motions is gone. With a swift shrug he slides off his doublet, and drapes it across the chair. Then he stands up straight, lifts his chin, and looks down at Athos (for the last time in a while, his mind adds grudgingly).

"Where... would you have me?"

"Unless you think you'll forget," Athos replies with the utmost sincerity, because rubbing salt into the wound simply isn't his style. Idly picking at the trim on his cuff, he observes a curious transformation in Buckingham's body language - this must be the sort of thing he pulls on when dealing with loathsome courtiers.

Athos clears his throat (and his wineglass in little more than a few sips), pursing his lips in thought.

The bed is too intimate. The chair, too lazy. No man can stand in the middle of the room receiving the sort of treatment he is about to receive, so Athos gestures toward one of the tapestry-covered walls.

"Would you prefer a pillow, for your knees?"

And just there Buckingham is at least treated to the opportunity to offer Athos' a somewhat... pitying look. He nods along with the Musketeer's choice of locale, but his grin turns a little lopsided. Poor him, if he truly thinks he'll be left standing by the end of this. But... the chaise longue is near enough his spot by the wall, so he'll see no reason to object.

"Let my knees be by own concern," Buckingham chides.

He takes a flat cushion from the closet all the same, and if the suggestion was meant a mockery alone, then he'll gladly brush it aside in favour of his own comfort. And the best results, of course, otherwise wouldn't that make him a bad sport? And they did bet against that, alas.

He saunters across the room, and waits for Athos to take his place.

While Buckingham's cavalier attitude is enough to bother him tremendously, Athos does a fair job of ignoring it in favor of unfastening the buttons on his own doublet - for comfort, obviously. His sword belt has already been removed; it remains draped on a side table where he left it when he came in earlier.

"Right, I forgot how very generous you are."

Sure enough, Athos has already considered the chaise lounge and situates himself next to it. Leaning up against the wall, his fingers pause on the fasteners of his trousers, and he gives the duke a suspicious look.

"...you're not going to bite, are you?"

"Well."

Buckingham clicks his tongue, and drops the pillow at Athos' feet. As soon as the Musketeer has taken his place he follows, stepping closer and slipping his own fingers past Athos' hands, robbing them of the task they began.

"If that is your concern, then perhaps you... should have raised the bet accordingly, shouldn't you? As it stands you will simply have to..."

The motion is swift, fluid, practiced. With one tug Buckingham is on his knees, and Athos stands in front of him bare, trousers and breeches pulled down to his ankles. Buckingham looks up grinning, and bares his teeth.

"...pray that your luck holds."

Athos should be concerned.

Athos should be exceptionally concerned, because not only is the Duke of Buckingham following the stipulations of their bet to the very letter, but the Duke of Buckingham also has a penchant for revenge (and Athos remembers dying, multiple times, quite painfully). Any sane man in his right mind would have called the game off several hands ago, but not them, of course - not when it seemed like such a good idea at the time, not when it still seems like a good idea.

An eyebrow nearly reaches his hairline as the duke promptly divests him of the important garments in a manner that suggests he has done this many times before.

Of course he has.

"To what god?" Athos snorts.

Hell is probably missing several demons, and they're all here with him.

Buckingham puts his hands on Athos' thighs, steadying his position.

A shame, he'd wondered if he might gain inspiration for future mockeries, but it seems he'll find no such fault between the Musketeers legs. All the better for the next round of the game, he supposes, after all it can be so very tedious to play with the wrong pieces.

"You may wish to seek Aramis' counsel for an inquiry of that nature, unless you... deem yourself in such dire need for a name to moan."

And just so his words end, and he parts his lips wide in silence, to let Athos' cock slide wetly between them.

Truly, Athos is grateful that whatever insults arising from this will not be centered around the size of his cock. He is very happy with it, thank you, so let's not draw any more attention to it than there needs to be.

...unlike right now, where there is a lot of attention and he'd almost rather not-

Oh.

It is with exceptional clarity now that Athos can see why King James professes such a great love and adoration for the Duke of Buckingham, because his skill is...enviable, his technique unusually experienced, and it is no small wonder that England remains firmly under the thumb of Buckingham's whims.

And his very. Very talented. Tongue.

Much to Buckingham's irritation, perhaps, Athos rests a hand in his hair.

A mouthful of cock does wonders when it comes to muffling irritated groans and preventing words of protest, yet as long as the duke's own hands are still free Athos' own will find no permanent resting place just there. Buckingham pauses in his duties immediately, and reaches up to drag the offending paw down to his shoulder. There. If you must.

...Now, strictly speaking such inconsideration deserves no reward, but as it just so happens Buckingham considers himself sworn to the spirit of immaculate performance, and could bear offering less, even if... it requires giving more than the stakes demand. If he should deem a mere back and forth with his head insufficient, and slowly pulls away because of it, lets the strokes of his hand take over as he cranes his neck and lets his tongue find Athos' balls, slick licks covering their entire surface, his lips sucking softly on wet skin.

Ah, what a true gift and a curse it is, to deem any job worth doing to the utmost of your skill. Any job. Any job at all...

Ugh fine.

With little protest - he couldn't find it in him to object either way, his consciousness being wholly distracted - Athos' hands find a new home on Buckingham's shoulders, fingers clenching the fabric of his doublet. At least his clothes can be replaced, his coif requires more work than that.

The duke is marvelously experienced, so much so that he even draws a heavy groan of relief from the musketeer, whose head hits the wall with a palpable thunk as soon as Buckingham's ministrations have moved lower. Athos honestly cannot remember the last time he was tended to so diligently, which perhaps says a great deal about how he really ought to sleep around more.

His fingers tighten on the duke's shoulder.

"Attentive, aren't you," he mumbles, the question mostly rhetorical.

His practiced approach only allows for so much distraction, but Buckingham treats himself to a smirk when his lost wager is accepted with moans instead of taunts, when indeed the Athos is at a loss for words.

Almost at a loss for words.

The duke withdraws slightly from his work, and for a moment only his hand resumes its slow and dutiful motion lazily, while he takes the opportunity to wipe a thin trail of saliva from his lips, as he looks up at the Musketeer.

"I'd not have you claim I did not... pay in full."

He gives Athos a firm squeeze that only just misses the border of too much force, and leans forward again. His fingers have served their purpose then, and in their place his tongue slides easily along the whole of Athos' cock, as if he truly relished the taste.

Heavily Buckingham exhales, and finally draws in a deep breath as he braces himself, remembering that he is rather out of practice for the next feat. All the same he parts his lips and takes Athos' in, this time cautiously and slowly and as far as he will go down his throat.

It is with the utmost strength he can possibly muster that Athos has determined not to fall victim to Buckingham's egregiously wicked ways. By this he intends to keep any and all opinions flowing, heedless and unbidden, from his mouth - it would be too much satisfaction to offer the duke should Buckingham think he silenced the musketeer. The scandal.

"I would hate to have you - ngh - come back for a second installment," he mumbles, eyeing Buckingham with no small amount of suspicion as his grip suddenly becomes a little too tight for his liking.

It is while Athos is looking down that he sees (and feels) the duke attempting to swallow him whole. He finds it both mesmerizing and disturbing.

"Christ, man, are you trying to choke yourself?"

So maybe he hasn't seen this particular technique executed before.

Ah yes, of course, Buckingham can feel the hatred on his tongue, the Musketeer truly must resent it with every hard and shivering moment of his being.

And Buckingham would happily voice as much, would voice still more about how it is not his but Athos' prerogative to demand the performance repeated, but the duke's attempt is going rather well and deep, denying him the ability to respond quite so vocally.

Instead he finds contentment in rolling his eyes, and letting his nails dig deep into Athos' exposed thigh.

Edited 2014-06-30 22:29 (UTC)

Yes, it is true, Athos is most certainly despising every second of this excruciatingly erotic encounter with the last person he ever thought he would see on his knees (and willingly, bless him). There is nothing satisfying in the way that Buckingham's mouth feels around his cock, and there is certainly no reason for the musketeer to enjoy the sensations and the circumstances to their fullest potential.

Slander and calumny, of course, the only thing that Athos is not currently taking pleasure in are the fingernails clenching uncomfortably in his thighs. He hisses and his attention is jerked back downward, where someone is prolonging the experience by making it a lot more difficult to reach completion.

"Rappelez-vous," Athos grumbles, brow furrowing.

No taste for a little pain with the pleasure, eh? Too bad, but if that is how monsieur wishes to celebrate his victory, then Buckingham supposes he can oblige and pull back his claws, so to speak. And smoothly he runs his palms across the crescent marks in Athos' flesh, taking away the edge of their sting; a ritual that is more habit than apology.

Afterwards he withdraws with a soft popping sound, and indulges in a few deep breaths while letting his tongue swirl lazily around the Musketeer's cock. He glances up and considers taking the opportunity to voice a comment, but alas, in his present position nothing of sufficient poignancy springs to mind, and so he resigns himself to using his mouth as before, silently letting Athos slide back into it.

Athos often finds that his own pain will distract from his pleasure, and as such it is not enhanced by Buckingham's unnecessary talons digging into his skin. With the duke silenced and doing his damnedest to firmly unhinge the musketeer, Athos is finally permitted to let his head touch the wall in peace with a low and satisfied groan.

It is this singular noise that draws attention to the fact that he is getting close, and while not entirely in his right mind therefore forgets the duke's dislike of a rumpled coif. One rough hand, scarred from duels and twitching for the right manner of hold, slips its way back into Buckingham's hair as Athos thrusts forward.

The duke is about to indulge in all the gloating that Athos' contentment warrants, but a rough grab pulls him from the moment, and a sudden thrust drags a muffled groan of surprise from him instead. Glancing up sharply and finding himself unseen by eyes that seem closed in bliss Buckingham silently agrees to postpone his objections to a time when he can actually give them voice.

In the meanwhile his own hand wanders upwards, palm pressed down firmly, and comes to stroke the Musketeer's stomach, and warm skin that holds many more scars still. It lets him feel the muscle tensing underneath, helps to anticipate the next thrust better. To anticipate the end which must be near now, quite frankly he is surprised Athos lasted as long as he did, perhaps the Musketeer took better care of himself than Buckingham thought...

His other hand presses down near the base of Athos' cock, one finger after another in a coaxing little massage, while his tongue swirls wet and eager as ever, and the rhythm of his his lips' back and forth seeks to drag the satisfaction from the Musketeer.

Had Athos any whit of concern for His Lordship's comfort and accommodation, he would certainly not jerk so forcefully, would not revel so completely in the submission of an old-foe-turned...something inexplicable. Athos hasn't the head for word games, he finds his actions tend to speak louder and more eloquently.

He flinches ever so slightly at the soft touch - perhaps an afterthought on Buckingham's part, stroking his stomach, perusing the scant territory he is permitted to explore. It would be a comforting gesture were he not otherwise preoccupied massaging the duke's scalp while rocking into his mouth. Athos is surprised he's lasted as long as he has as well, although it will not be for much longer-

-not with the duke sucking so gently, so carefully, and Athos can feel himself tense, clinging to the last bastion before allowing himself the fall and with a heavy groan, he climaxes.

[CLOSED] It's all fun and games until somebody gets laid.

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can't believe that this is reeeeaaaaaaal

♥

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im crying at that icon

g o o d

meanieface :(

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